


Hard Cheese

by totallytrans



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: M/M, POV First Person, also wtf is a tag i dont really care about these, and i had this headcanon for awhile i just wanted to see it come to life lol, anyway, i made myself laugh with this so enjoy, im gay for hugo vega, im gay have fun, its been a minute until i played hugos route so i might have messed something up idk, the dadsona isn't named to allow it to be your dadsona. have fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 21:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11632410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallytrans/pseuds/totallytrans
Summary: Hugo Vega has a rather stinky secret.





	Hard Cheese

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slowly editing some typos that I swear just keep springing up. How many times did I proofread? Too many. Yet there are so many damn mistakes. Either way, enjoy!

Trivia night had been going pretty well. Hugo and I were slowly making our way through the depressing remarks and obscure questions, one piece of cheese at a time. Today was a particularly busy day, because it seemed that even more teams were joining in for the competition. Maybe it was because the bounty for today’s winner was more rewarding. $50 gift cards? Hell yea. One of the many new teams included Mat and his daughter, Carmensita. Every now and then, I could see Mat send a glare my and Hugo’s way, but it’s easy enough to ignore. Especially considering the fact that Mat was anything but intimidating. He runs a coffee shop. Also, his daughter was sitting right next to him, which kinda didn’t help. No one could really be intimidating with a preteen in braces sitting next to them.

Holding a piece of French bread with a creamy cheese spread on top, Hugo had to try to hide a laugh as Quizmaster Quinn read off yet another literary question, and my face went blanker than I thought possible. 

“What is the pen name of the popular author slash veterinarian James Alfred Wight?”

“Were you even alive during high school english?” The teacher mused, taking a bite of his bread and cocking his eyebrow.

“Why do we need to know he was a vet? That doesn’t help anything, now I’m going through my extensive knowledge of famous vets instead of my similarly expansive knowledge of authors and their pen names.” _When are we going to get out of the literary section. When am I going to utilize everything I learned about Ska in my college days?_ “If he reworded the question, I would have known the answer immediately.” A condescending shake of my head.

“Oh, so you would have know the answer was James Herriot?” He chuckled, raising his hand to score us another point. Quinn called him out shortly after, thanks to the fact that he was apparently the only one at Charcutiepie who knew the answer.

“Of course.”

“If you say so.”

To continue my act of bravado, I sipped at my glass of wine, nodding sagely as the Quizmaster announced yet another point for our team thanks to Hugo being a nerdy english teacher and all. I swear I could hear Mat grumbling something about how he would crush us if there was a music category tonight. Damn, he must have really wanted that gift card. How badly did he need that weed whacker? 

“Alright, folks! Sit tight for a quick 5 minute intermission, during which I will most likely end up crying my eyes out in the bathroom!” Quinn announced, his voice cracking. As sad as it was, I had to stop myself from laughing once he was out of sight.

The cafe was much quieter now that everyone wasn’t debating the answers. I could hear the faint music playing throughout the joint, some nameless (well, to me, anyway) classical music that was meant to stimulate our brains or something. I opened my mouth, about to continue assuring Hugo that I most definitely knew that last question and didn’t need his intervention, when I noticed he seemed rather uncomfortable. His eyebrows were furrowed, mouth held in a tight line. His hands were placed on his stomach. 

“Too much cheese?” I joked, although I was genuinely concerned. I just didn’t want to get too worried only to find out he needed to fart or something.

Oh no why did I think that I think he actually needed to fart. Milliseconds after I spoke, I could smell the sulfuric odor of someone ripping ass, even though I didn’t hear it. And with how red Hugo’s face turned, I could tell it was him. I decided not to say anything.

“Uh, y-yeah?” He said after a second, clearing his throat and trying desperately to stop hunching over and keep a straight face. He was still thinking deeply, I could tell, but I figured he was just trying to decide if anyone else could smell what just happened. 

We sat in silence, me wondering if I should make some fart-related pun and Hugo trying to pretend that nothing happened, when I heard it. The quiet _pffbt-sh_ of sulfuric gas exiting the body via the anus. The smell of bad cheese and rotten eggs and even more cheese. Tears springing up in Hugo’s eyes as his face turned as red as his glass of wine. Oh boy, he must not be having a good night.

“Uh, Hugo, you...feelin’ okay?” As badly as I wanted to playfully scold him, or comment on how formidably that man could pass gas, I decided to let him slide. Hugo sincerely looked like he was about to cry. 

“Okay, um, uh, I should, uh,” he couldn’t even construct a sentence, the poor guy, “go home. I, uh, I’m not feeling too good.”

I simply couldn't resist the urge anymore. “I can smell that.” 

If it was possible for Hugo to go any redder, he just did. Valiantly, god bless him, he tried to laugh it off, but it was weak and embarrassed and short-lived. “Can I admit something in hopes of making a valid excuse as to why I’m doing that?”

“Shoot.”

“I’m, uh…” he trailed off, and I was almost worried. But then again, what makes you fart uncontrollably? With the way he was acting, it had to be either obscenely serious, or endlessly amusing. Maybe he had a secret addiction to baked beans. Maybe he had a bad case of IBS.

“I’m lactose intolerant, but I really, really like cheese, so I just take lactase and hope that helps, but-”

“Why would you take lactose if you’re lactose intolerant?”

“Lactase,” he corrected casually (not that I knew the difference,) before he remembered he was supposed to be acting embarrassed, and promptly lowered his voice, “anyway, I must have forgotten to take my lactase, and then forgot that I forgot, and here I am.”

I was about to respond, but Hugo scrunched his face up in an attempt to hold another fart at bay, and I promptly started giggling. I wasn’t sure if it was because of his facial expression, or the fact that his uncontrollable gas was just starting to tickle my funny bone. I never really grew up past, like, 13. I’m just an old 13-year old. With a teenaged kid. And a job. And a crush on a cheese addict who shouldn’t even be addicted to cheese because he’s allergic to it.

“Your memory isn’t very gouda, then, huh?”

“Wh-”

“You need to keep cheddar track of your medicines, man.”

“Please-”

“You really….uh…” Crap, fresh out. Since when do I ever run out of puns?

“I’m going to leave if you make another cheese pun during these trying times, so you might be advised to just stop there.”

“I’m going to leave if you fart again.”

“Touche.”


End file.
